


The one in which Bucky is a cat

by Kare



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky is a cat in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kare/pseuds/Kare
Summary: The whole thing started with a prompt I found online: "You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen."





	The one in which Bucky is a cat

It had been... a hiccup, okay? He had never meant to end with a human. No self respecting cat did that.

But the going had been kinda rough. He had... maybe gotten himself with the wrong kind of dame. And there was a very real chance that her not-so-flappy human would kill him on sight. Prized possession and all that jazz. Not like that had kept the dame from wanting to live a little anyway. All the more since she was a fierce one, well capable of taking care of herself. But humans were strange like that. Getting a dog to track him wasn't much better either.

It wasn't like he had wanted to hide. It was more... trying to pick ones battles. Not that he would need it. He just... didn't feel inclined to... repeat himself. Right?

It was his version.

And the little nook he had found was... well... dry. Which was something. There was a perfect sunny spot on the wood panels. And he loved lounging around there. It was quiet and warm and maybe he liked rolling around and trying to catch the sun rays. And maybe he didn't exactly look menacing when he did that. A bug trying to land on his nose might have been the first indication. And maybe eating it had not been the best move this far. It tasted... funny.

It had taken him an embarrassing long amount of time to figure that this lodging was shared with a human. Well, yeah, _his_ lodging. He was here more often. If the other one had wanted to have a claim on this he should have been around more often. It really was as simple as that.

The other one was tolerable. He didn't have a too strong smell, though very few things in here carried a definite scent. The human one kept well enough away. A well placed claw on the hand had taken care of that. The only problem was that this arrangement made it hard for him to get his neck scratched on those rare occasions when he actively wanted it. But since the deal came with food he was willing to tolerate this short coming.

He was even willing to tolerate the name thing. He wasn't stupid. If that human said Bucky he usually was referring to him. How trying to stop a bug from landing on ones head in any way merited such a stupid naming was beyond him. And it did help that the other seemed to be using the word without mocking.

It even made Bucky ignore the fact that the other was around so seldom that he didn't properly take care of his hunting duty.

Said human didn't get a clue when he left the first offering of a rat.  
  
Because there were enough around to feed an army. And nothing but a half starved army could have possibly been moved to take a bite of something like that.

That pigeons started to find the same opening he himself had used to enter was another problem. Another one of which this human seemed to be unresponsive toward.   
  
At least dead pigeons seemed to be too subtle of a clue.

Nor did the other one really seemed to understand that all that defending of a shared territory was hard work that required decent nutrition.

Those other critters didn't stop taking an interest in the food or breading spaces, just because one had gone down.

The mole had been an accident, which was all that would ever be said about that one.

And truth be told Bucky would have left a long time ago. He could take a different territory and make his home anew. The things he had been fleeing were likely long since gone. 

The thing that kept him here and which he was going to deny to his dying breath, was the humans tendency to scream bloody murder in his sleep and only a complicated cadence of purring would get him properly asleep.

And who was Bucky to leave a person in need again? 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve had taken to leaving his window open, no matter if he was only gone for a bit or actually off to work.

The tiny space could use all the air it could get - Steve was moderately sure that the one occupying the flat before had either been a chain smoker or a stoner, probably both - and Steve’s lungs thanked him for it, no matter the time of year.

Surprisingly enough people had yet to try and rob him, seeing that the window was moderately close the the fire exit. But since he didn't own anything even he himself would deem steal-worthy he had remarkably few troubles to put his mind to ease.

One of the more peculiar side effects - one which Steve only noticed after probably two weeks - was that he had acquired a non-human visitor.

By definition that thing was most likely a cat, though anything with those piecing eyes, claws from hell and the most soul piecing meow, could likely also be a demon spawn or some other sort of misfit.

It wasn't that Steve didn't like that one per se.

He had given it a name after all - Bucky, for nostalgia's sake - and the thing had more or less given his consense by not attacking him for it.

The real problem, was... well...

"You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen."

Which of course remained unanswered...

The little demon spawn only sat there, licking a paw, quiet obviously waiting for a rewarding threat.

And Steve, no matter his tight purse or the probably just-waiting-to-break-out cat hair allergy, still tried his best to have a ready supply of nibbles and tinned food. Which would have been a lot more fine if said demon spawn didn't eat enough to feed an army. Which in turn was also the main reason Steve assumed that he was the only one taking care of the critter. Because the idea of Bucky eating twice that much was frankly scary.

How that had led to Steve putting up with dead bodies...

Well, he would lie if he said that he had been particularly attached to those rats in the first place. The pigeons were a nuisance to clean, but at least they weren't missed. Steve had yet to figure how a dead mole had ended up on his floorboards.

Or how he was to get rid of the body without seriously endanger his prospect of lodging - after all it had been pretty much the only affordable option Steve had been able to find.

But Steve put up with it.

Maybe because the lack of friendly human interaction was getting to him. Maybe because he wanted to look out for someone when no one had been there to look out for him after the dead of his mother. Being responsible for something actually helped... in an abstract way.

 

* * *

 

 

Something was definitely off. Not only had Bucky accepted his stupid name without putting up too much of a fight, his two legged fellow lodger also... there sure were kinder words, but he was even worse looking after himself then Bucky had ever been.

It was not only about what little hair he had sticking every which way in the morning and during most of the day.

It wasn't the others tendency to fall asleep on the couch and be remarkably unresponsive towards every ploy to get his attention.

It was that the other was too thin, almost malnourished, and his skin had far from the right temperature.

And while Bucky was as lazy as the next one, he knew when it was time to go and... help...

Which would of course imply that he was still the kind of being which knew how to do that.

He wasn't without a heroic story or two. No one really was.

He had attacked a dog to secure the freedom of a dame. He had been the kind who would get away with barely a scratch.

And he had also been the one to come down with something Thanks to his troubles.

For a few days he had been unable to breath freely, which had not really made life on the streets any easier.

He had been so sure that it would only be a few days of laying low and things would sort themselves out. It never really had.

The world war just less. Less smell. Less flavor. Less information. Less interesting. Just less.

Things were still well enough for Bucky to circle in on the heavenly meet balls, regardless of whether or not the less hairy on had been meaning to share.

They had just been too good. Tasty. Even if slightly off temperature wise.

And Bucky had been mostly sure that he had done nothing wrong. The other had not exactly tried to defend his food. But while his nose might not be what it used to be, his ears were just fine. And so he has spend the rest of the evening listening to the tell tale gurgle of the other ones stomach.

And Bucky remembered what it was like to go without food far better then he liked.

So, out it was, even if Bucky could think of few things he wanted to do even less.

But a real Brooklyn cat didn't know how to be scared.

So out it was.

**Author's Note:**

> I am actually going through last years Nano. This was one of those things that hibernated on my hard drive for ages and which I still deem okay.
> 
> Somewhere during the time I was writing this I read that cats that had a flue sometimes loose their sense of smell. Which for a cat is more then enough of a handicap.
> 
> Probably could have used a bit more polishing. But I actually like cat-Bucky.
> 
> I will likely not write the part where Bucky tries to catch a koi and brings back his find to the apartment building. But you are welcome to imagine it anyway ^^;


End file.
